


And the Egyptian Job

by 0hHeyThereBigBadWolf



Category: Leverage, The Librarians (TV 2014)
Genre: Costumes, Established Relationship, F/M, Post-Mission Sex Is The Best Sex, Theda Bara's Cleopatra Outfits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-07-28 13:21:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16242485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0hHeyThereBigBadWolf/pseuds/0hHeyThereBigBadWolf
Summary: After a mission goes less-than-well, Cassandra gives Eliot a bit of...comfort.





	And the Egyptian Job

“I…hate…demons,” Eliot ground out through his teeth.

Cassandra offered him a small smile as she helped him limp towards the door that glowed with blue light. “I know you do. I promise, a few drops of Bethesda’s oil, and you’ll be right as rain. It works wonders.”

He grunted noncommittally. “Parker got the damn magic stick?”

“Yep. She’s already taken it to Jenkins. Sophie, Jacob, and Alec are getting the others,” she replied.

Behind them was the ruins of what had been the private floor of the Karnak, a casino with a running Egyptian theme, owned by Brian Koehler, an avid collector. And a very reckless magic studier. Most of the items in the collection had been stolen from smaller Egyptian museums, which had drawn the attention of the crew. And the latest item, a staff belonging to one of the Ptolemys, had drawn the attention of the LITs, since it was engraved with spellwork that could summon spirits from the ‘realm of Anubis.’

Eliot had thought that it’d be an easy job, but by the time they got there, Koehler had figured out how to use the staff’s magic. The spirits had possessed the various statues around the casino, animating them. Eliot was a good fighter, but there wasn’t a whole lot that he could do when up against carved marble.

Cassandra and Parker had slipped away before they could get caught like the rest of their respective teams. Cassandra had distracted Koehler so Parker could steal the staff, and without his control, the spirits returned to the underworld, leaving the statues as lifeless chunks of rock again.

“I hate demons, I hate ghosts, I hate fucking magic. Fuck magic. I know you love it, Cass, but _fuck it,”_ Eliot ground out. When they made it through the doorway into the Annex, staggering from the displacement, he swore aloud. “Mother _fuck,_ that hurts.”

Cassandra smiled, having heard his rant before and knowing she’d probably hear it again. Eliot liked things that were tangible, physical, things he could fight with his bare hands; magic rarely ever fit that description. It unnerved him, but he never asked her to stop her work at the Library, and he never begrudged her interest in studying it. It was what she did, and he accepted that. Just like she never liked him going up against armed gunmen and mercenaries bare-handed on a regular basis but never argued his involvement with the crew. “I know it does, honey.” She helped him over to a chair and let him sit down. “Wait right here, I’ll be right back.” Quickly, she ran to retrieve the oil and grabbed a water bottle from the kitchen.

Parker was crouched on top of a table, watching Jenkins work as he busily worked on putting magic mufflers on the staff, to prevent another summoning. Cassandra wished the knight luck in keeping her wrangled. “I’m back, Eliot,” she called as she returned to him. “Here. You’ll need this. It’s got a bit of a rough taste.” She handed him the water bottle, then carefully started working the stopper out of the thick glass bottle.

“And this is gonna fix my leg?” Eliot asked sceptically, watching as she measured a few small droplets into a shot glass.

“Yep. Your leg, your wrist, and all your other assorted lumps and bruises. Eve got stabbed in the chest once. One swallow of this, she was good as new. Here.” She handed him the glass. “Drink it fast, try not to let it touch your tongue.”

The hitter made a little face, but he took the glass from her, studying the dregs of greenish oil at the bottom. Taking a breath, he tossed it back…and promptly started coughing. “Oh, Jesus! It’s like a monkey pissed in battery acid,” he coughed, hastily gulping water to rinse out the taste.

“Warned you. I don’t know how Flynn and Eve can take this with a straight face,” Cassandra mused, fitting the stopper back into the bottle. “How’s the leg?”

Eliot opened his mouth, then shut it again. “Uhm…better. A lot better.” He rolled his ankle around curiously and felt no pain at all. He put his foot flat on the floor and leant his weight on it experimentally. He flexed his wrist a little. Still good. “Huh. That’s pretty impressive.”

“Just give it a moment, okay? It might hurt in a minute once the bones start healing up. There’s an ache sometimes.”

“Hey, Cass, how did you and Parker get the magic stick from Koehler?” he wondered.

“Oh, he’s apparently got a bit of a Cleopatra kink. Had a whole collection of costumes from films and stuff. So I threw one on, cast a little glamour over me, and acted like I was the spirit of Cleopatra summoned to the land of the living. Parker stole the staff when he was ogling,” she replied with a grin. “I’ll call you a cab back to your place, okay? You go sit down and put your foot up for a while, let it finish healing. I’m going to help get everything sorted here, and I’ll be there as soon as I’m done.” She brushed back his hair and kissed his temple.

Sorting through all the artifacts took longer than she anticipated. There were quite a few of them, and they had to sort out the real ones from the fake ones, and then the magical real ones from the normal real ones. By the time they’d finished getting it all sorted out, Cassandra had started getting antsy. She didn’t want Eliot to fall asleep before she got home and showed him her new costume.

Brian Koehler did have a real hard-on for Cleopatra. There’d been an entire side room full of nothing but costumes worn in her various on-screen portrayals, everything from Liz Taylor all the way back to Theda Bara. And she’d chosen one of Theda’s costumes. Most of them had been made of sheer fabric or had covered almost nothing at all, or a mix of the two. She picked out one of the more famous ones—a skirt that was made of long, separated panels of glittery, gauzy, almost entirely sheer fabric with fake gemstones sewn on it, and a bra with a behind-the-neck chain, the cups made of coiled gold serpents that barely covered her breasts. She’d picked it out with Eliot in mind, intending to show it off to him once they were back home, but it would hardly do any good if he fell asleep before she got there.

As soon as Jenkins said they had every last artifact safely stored away, Cassandra ran to the bathrooms, changed back into the costume, put on her coat, and cast a little notice-me-not charm over herself to avoid any unwanted staring, then hurried outside to catch a cab to Eliot’s place.

He didn’t live in a flat; he had a brownstone all to himself, one that he’d turned into a fortress of his own making. She felt the protective wards she cast around the perimeters of the place shiver a little when she passed through them, unlocking the door and coming inside. “Eliot? You still up?” she called as she took off her boots.

“In here” he replied from the living room. Just like she’d told him, he had his foot propped up on a pillow.

“How’s the ankle feel?” she asked, sitting beside him and studying his wrist, gently squeezing and pressing, watching his face for signs of pain.

“Good, all good. You were right, it did ache for a few minutes, but it’s been gone now. I feel great.”

She leant in to kiss him, grinning gleefully. “Excellent.”

“Why don’t you take the coat off, stay awhile?” Eliot teased, plucking at the sleeve of her long jacket with a smile.

Cassandra smiled saucily. “I had to make sure you were all good first. I didn’t think you’d be able to sit still once I took it off,” she replied, standing up and untying the belt of the jacket, brushing aside the last traces of her notice-me-not charm. The slight confusion on his face dissolved into a look of shock and sudden lust when she slipped the coat back off her shoulders, casting it aside and holding her arms out. Eliot made a choked sound like a chicken being improperly strangled. “Well, Mr. Spencer? Do I look like the naughty magazine cover that gave you a premature kick-start on puberty?” she asked; it’d taken her a while to suss it out of him, but Eliot had just the _littlest bit_ of a belly dancer fetish, which was half why she’d picked this costume out of all the ones there.

“Sweet Jesus,” he choked out, arms lifting, and she stepped forward into his hold so he wouldn’t have to get up. A shiver spread across her skin as his big, rough hands slid around her bare waist, tugging her down onto his lap. “This is from the Karnak?” he asked, brushing his fingers along the waist of her skirt.

“Mm-hm. Not the only one, either,” she replied, and she could almost see him resolve to immediately steal the other costumes in his mind.

“Christ, Cassie.” He tangled a hand in the back of her hair and pulled her forward into a kiss, his tongue delving into her mouth. Cassandra moaned softly, curling her arms around his neck and rocking her hips against him, feeling him already half-hard through his jeans. Eliot broke from the kiss first and instead turned his attention to her neck, nibbling and biting a path down to her barely covered breasts; his hands roved everywhere, stroking her back and hips and thighs.

Cassandra made quick work of his button-up, shoving it back off his arms impatiently, and he growled in frustration having to take his hands off her in order to get his undershirt off. She ran her hands across his exposed skin, tracing along the faded lines of old scars with fingertips and nails until he shivered. Tasting the warm, salty skin of his neck and shoulder, she reached down and found his belt, undoing the buckle with a musical jingle. Eliot curled his arms tightly around her and started to stand up, carry her back to the bedroom; Cassandra grabbed the back of the sofa with both hands and pulled hard, forcing him to sit back. “No. Right here, like this,” she ordered, seeing his pupils dilate a little.

“Yes, ma’am,” he rumbled back. “Lift.” She rose up on her knees slightly so he could shove his jeans down. He slid his hands between the long, gauzy panels of her skirt and groaned when he found only warm, bare skin underneath. “Cassandra, baby, you seem to be missing something here.”

“Figured you’d like the easy access. Cleopatra didn’t wear lace panties,” she reminded him.

“You went out in public like this?” he asked, grinning, and he pushed a hand between her thighs. God, she was already wet for him, and she gasped softly as he slipped a finger into her.

“Wore the jacket. Used a masking spell,” Cassandra said, her voice thick with pleasure; she ran her hands over every bit of him she could reach, compulsively. She could feel him pressed against her inner thigh, hard and ready; she rolled her hips against him, sliding her slick flesh over his.

“Holy _mother_ —Cassie, you’re killing me,” Eliot huffed. He withdrew his fingers and stroked himself a few times, slicking himself up with her own wetness.

Cassandra held his shoulders for balance, lifted up, and started sliding down onto him; Eliot put his head back on the sofa, eyes closed as her warmth enveloped him, inch by inch, until she was fully seated on his lap, buried in her up to the hilt. She was so very _tight_ and _wet_ , it drove him fucking _insane_. Eliot buried his face against her chest, eyes closed as she rode him, rolling her hips in just the right way to stroke over her sweetspot. One hand slid over her hips and between her thighs, finding the small, slick pearl and stroking it with his thumb, rubbing in time with the roll of her hips.

Cassandra wasn’t a screamer, but she was a biter. She lowered her head and sank her teeth into Eliot’s shoulder, biting down hard as she came, shuddering hard. He stroked her with his thumb to keep her riding the high until he went too, spilling inside her. Once the last spasms of pleasure faded, she practically melted on his lap, draped over him all warm and flushed, panting. “God, that was incredible,” she murmured, lightly kissing his shoulder where she’d bitten him. She bit hard, too; he’d have a mark for a few days.

“Agreed. We’re keeping the outfit,” Eliot added, and she chortled quietly. He sighed as she shifted off him and felt the delicate tingle of power dance across his skin. Magic was so useful when it came to cleaning up after sex. He gazed at her warmly, sprawled across the length of the sofa, sweaty and flushed, her legs draped over his lap, tangled around the glittering, gauzy fabric of her skirt. He patted her thigh, idly noticing the small red marks that would be bruises by tomorrow, perfectly spaced to his fingertips. “C’mon, baby, let’s go to bed.”

“You wanna go get the other outfits?” she asked, her voice slightly slurred.

“Tomorrow.” He stood up, tugged his jeans back up, and slid his arms under her, lifting her off the sofa. “Right now, it’s bedtime, O mighty pharaoh.”

She giggled, slinging an arm around his neck and nuzzling against him; she got sleepy like that after sex sometimes, especially if she’d been particularly wired before. Laying her on the bed, he got her out of the costume and carefully hung it up in the sofa. She would definitely be wearing that again. Shucking off jeans, he crawled into the bed next to her and pulled the coverlet around them. Cassandra yawned and nuzzled into his chest, curling up close to him; he wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her hair, and they went to sleep.


End file.
